


you don't fight fair

by crooked



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:56:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crooked/pseuds/crooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire doesn't always fight by the rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you don't fight fair

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted @ my [tumblr](http://iron-mans.tumblr.com/post/58503358588/partybarackisinthehousetonight-you-wanna-fight), inspired by a grantaire tag someone added to a non-fandom post.

Enjolras should've known better than to think that 'dating' Grantaire (in quotes because it's been three weeks, several very heavy make-out sessions, and exactly no discussions about exactly what it is they're doing) would've meant an end to his oh-so-helpful opposition at meetings. If anything, R seems even _more_ determined to rile Enjolras up with counterpoints and attempts to dismantle every other idea he comes up with. He swears there is no ulterior motive every time he's asked - although the smirk accompanying the denial doesn't do much to convince anyone.

But sometimes he goes too far. Enjolras angrily slams his fist down on the table, this last mocking interruption one too many. "Can't you ever just fucking sit there and listen?" he asks, blue eyes blazing as they glare at Grantaire. He notices Joly shift uncomfortably, Bossuet sliding a reassuring arm over the back of his chair. But Enjolras will apologize later. Or not. He's too angry to care.

Especially because Grantaire just flashes that infuriating smirk, casually lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug, and says, "Clearly not. Can't you ever just take the constructive criticism without throwing a fit?" And to punctuate it he lifts his eyebrows as if in a challenge.

"You know what, Grantaire, _fuck off_!" Enjolras says, at his wit's end. "I've had enough of your bullshit today!" He stands up and it's only Combeferre's swift reflexes that stops his chair from knocking over. His hands are balled into fists and he doesn't quite remember making the motion.

Grantaire stands as well, much more calmly, and levels a look at Enjolras. "You want to fight me, Enjolras?" he asks, a hint of laughter in his words. He's a boxer, they all know it. Enjolras would lose and handily. But he's so keyed up that he doesn't hesitate to say that, yeah, he wants to fucking fight. "Let's take this outside, then," Grantaire says, and the chorus of their friends pleading for cooler heads to prevail doesn't stop Enjolras from marching outside and Grantaire from following.

Enjolras is rolling his sleeves up and practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. His shoulders are tense, his _whole body_ is tense, and he really doesn't want to fight his maybe-boyfriend. But he has never backed down from anyone or anything, and he isn't about to start now. Grantaire, for his part, looks remarkably relaxed, strolling out at a leisurely pace. That only angers Enjolras more.

Before he can say anything, though, Grantaire lifts his eyes to the sky. "The stars are so bright tonight," he remarks, in such a soft and out-of-place tone. Enjolras can't help but drop some of his guard, tilting his head at him in confusion. "The moon looks so nice, don't you think?"

The easy smile he gives Enjolras is so disarming that he has no choice but to shift his eyes up to the heavens. The moon is a white-grey sliver against the midnight blue sky, stars twinkling brightly like faraway Christmas lights. It is tranquil, he has to admit. "I guess," Enjolras says, hesitantly, looking at Grantaire with a suspicious expression. "What are you-"

"Hold my hand," Grantaire says, and he's suddenly close, his hand held out at his side. Enjolras' frown softens and all the tension leaves his body, an exasperated sigh leaving him as he laces their fingers together.

"You are _such_ an asshole," he says, sagging into Grantaire's side. Grantaire just smiles and lifts their hands and presses a kiss to the back of Enjolras' hand. They both know who has won. "I hate when you do that."

And they both know he really doesn't.


End file.
